Stormwind (The Storm Chronicles Book 3) (17 page)

Pashta must have spotted Raven approaching because she winked, shelved the bottles she was juggling and poured a cranberry club soda from Raven’s secret stash of unmarked cans. Raven reached across the bar and clasped arms with her old friend before sipping from the glass.

“It’s good to see you, Ray. How’re things down at the 42nd?” Pashta asked.

Raven put her glass down and shrugged. “Working on a new case that has me aggravated, but that really isn’t anything new. Most murders aggravate me.”

“Working? Then where is that partner of yours?” Pashta asked.

“He’s taking the night off,” Raven replied in a tone that invited no further comment.

“Okay…” Pashta said. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call then, what I can I do to help?”

“Are the lycans in tonight?”

Pashta jerked her head toward a shadowy booth in the farthest corner of the club. “Yeah. They’re lurking back there gnawing on mutton and snarling at everyone like always, why?”

“Have they seemed any weirder than usual?” Raven asked.

Pashta shook her head. “How do you get weirder than acting like a wild animal in public?”

Raven stared at Pashta for a beat. “Do you really want to know?”

“Um…no probably not,” Pashta replied. “They have been flashing more cash than usual, if that helps at all.”

Raven slipped two hundred dollar bills under her half-f glass and turned toward the booth Pashta had indicated. She passed through the dance floor, occasionally pushing people who got too close out of her way. Her glare was enough to keep anyone from complaining.

On the far side of the floor she stepped into the gloom and blinked, bringing her vampire sight to life. She could see the lycans sitting around their table, their ratty leather and denim stained with mutton and blood. As before, the Alpha sat in the middle with his mate while the rest of the pack sat further away with the two Omega females kneeling like slaves at the end of the booth. Raven stepped forward and pulled two large mutton chops off the platter on the table and handed them to the Omegas before turning her attention to the Alpha. He brushed his long brown hair away from his face with one hand and glared at the dhampyr.

“Hello, Tate. Miss me?”

Tate crushed the steel goblet he’d been holding, spilling wine all over his female, who squealed in annoyance. “How dare you, dhampyr?”

“I don’t like to see anyone being treated like you treat Laren and Kiyu. They’re people you infected, not animals,” Raven replied. “If you want to stop me, you’re welcome to try. And don’t even think about punishing them for my act. I’ll pull your head off and hang it outside the Mistress’ home.”

Tate folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. “We shall see. What is it you want, Fürstin?”

Raven glared at one of the werewolves until he stood and let her sit at the booth. “Mm, freedom for Omegas, world peace and anything you can tell me about a pair of lycans abducting a vampire familiar around noon today.”

“Omegas know their place, I couldn’t care less about the world outside my territory and none of my pack would be stupid enough to kidnap a familiar,” Tate replied. “That would violate the treaty and lead to war.”

Raven nodded and toyed with a piece of mutton. “It would. Do you know of any other packs in town or anyone running freelance?”

“The only pack in Chicago is mine,” Tate growled. “This is my territory. We are one hundred strong.”

“That’s pretty impressive for someone with the IQ of a potato,” Raven replied. “Are you sure you’ve got them all under your thumb?”

Tate’s eyes took on the golden glow of his wolf and he leaned forward, close enough Raven could smell the blood on his breath. “I said they are mine!”

Raven’s hand moved like quicksilver. She grabbed Tate by the throat and dragged him over the table, spinning so she had one knee on his chest and her Automag aimed at his head.

“I warned you before about getting in my face, Lycan. Let me make this clear. Two weres kidnapped a familiar named Karina. If your pack didn’t do it, another group of lycans did. Are you sure you don’t know anything useful? You’re flashing an awful lot of green for a potato.”

“My pack is not involved, dhampyr,” Tate replied. “And I am tired of being insulted in front of my pack.”

Raven thumbed back the Automag’s hammer. “I’m not sure what you’re going to do about it, Tate. You move and I’m going to vaporize that big cute noggin of yours.”

She could see the anger in the lycan’s eyes, but she could also see he was smart enough not to make a move against a Fürstin; especially one who had a massive pistol aimed at his head.

“That’s what I thought. I’m going to ask you for two things under the Treaty, for which I will pay you. One, if you hear of any other pack or any lycans running free you will contact me immediately. And two, either let your Omegas go or treat them like the rest of your pack. I will not tolerate you treating them like slaves. Are we clear?”

Tate nodded and Raven straightened. Tate stood and she handed him a small bag of gold from inside her jacket.

“A token of my family’s appreciation. Spend it wisely,” Raven said.

Tate stuffed the bag into his jacket and Raven pushed past him, headed for the bar.

“That looked like it went better than expected,” Pashta said, meeting Raven at the end of the bar.

Raven nodded and glanced back at Tate, who was staring holes in the back of her head. “Maybe. He’s hiding something though. His clothes smell like an outhouse, but under the stink I could smell fear. He’s involved in what I’m working on or knows who is and it scares him. He’s a moron, but he’s smart enough to know what’s at stake.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Pashta asked.

Raven sipped from her glass. “I shook the tree. I’m going to go home and see if anything falls out.”

“Be careful, Ravenel,” Pashta said. “Tate and his pack can be dangerous.”

“I know,” Raven replied. “But I need answers.”

She leaned across the bar and kissed Pashta’s cheek before exiting the club, all the while feeling Tate’s eyes on her.

RAVEN WOKE TO THE SUN shining through her drapes, its reddish light glaring at her like an angry eye. She pulled a pillow over her head and checked the time on her phone. It was almost ten in the morning. She groaned and sat up, not caring that the pillow fell on the floor. She glared back at the bothersome red sun and pulled the curtains closed. She then staggered off to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

When she left the bathroom an hour later she was dressed in a pair of black leather jeans tucked into a pair of stylish but functional boots and a pair of layered tank-tops, one gray and one black under a thin white tunic that hung low enough to cover the Automag holstered at the small of her back.

She was hurrying down the steps when her phone went off.

She fished it out and answered, “Storm.”

“Good morning, Detective, getting a late start?” Lieutenant Frost said.

“Hey, Chris. Lay off, I was out late following up on a possible lead in the skinner case. What’s up?”

“Zhu has a report for you on the second vic. Highlights include the same salt being used in both murders, same tool marks in her muscles, too. He guesses she was killed with a bone spear of some kind and he places the age of the weapon somewhere close to five hundred years.”

“You didn’t call to give me Zhu’s report,” Raven said, blowing a kiss to Dominique on her way to the garage.

“Victim number three was found this morning, another female. She was left in plain sight hanging from a lamp post outside Club Purgatory. Sanchez is already there with the CSI unit.”

“Sanchez? This is mine and Levac’s case.”

Raven could hear the discomfort in Frost’s voice. “Not anymore. Rupert asked to be reassigned this morning. I gave him a week off instead. For now you’re working with Sanchez. Try not to get the kid killed.”

Raven nodded and ended the call, feeling numb. She choked back tears and continued into the garage where the Shelby waited.

The drive into Old Town was a blur of traffic and memories. She and Levac had piled up a huge collection and every single one seemed to want come to the surface at the same time. She fought the rising tide and, by the time she pulled to the curb outside Club Purgatory she was her old self with thoughts of Levac pushed into the same corner of her mind where Wilson and the others lived.

She climbed out of the car, her eyes hidden behind her sunglasses, and approached the crime scene. Two officers raised the tape for her, but she barely glanced at them, her eyes and mind locked on the blood smeared tarp ahead of her. Pocock was hovering over the corpse taking samples while Sanchez stood by taking notes and looking green. There was a stain on the lapel of his dark green suit where he’d already been sick once and his tie was missing, likely a casualty to the same incident.

“What have we got, Rook?” Raven asked, ignoring the detective’s unease.

“Another female victim,” Sanchez said, his notebook shaking in his hands. “It looks like she was killed by a single deep thrust to her abdomen. She would have died slowly and painfully from the wound.”

“Harvey?” Raven asked.

“Sanchez is right. The cut is deep enough to have lacerated most of her lower organs, but not deep enough to kill her outright. She’d have lived through this until she bled out, fifteen or twenty minutes later.”

“Any other trauma?” Raven asked.

“Oh yeah, this little girl was a fighter. Four broken fingers, broken collarbone and a broken tailbone, all hours before death,” Pocock replied. “Whatever happened she fought back hard.”

Raven frowned and knelt next to the small woman. She had died with her jaw locked in pain and it still held that position even hours after death. But it was her eyes that drew Raven in. Eyes she’d looked into just a few days before.

“Karina,” she said softly.

“Beg pardon?” Sanchez asked.

“Karina Tsukino,” Raven replied. “She was the servant to someone I know. She went missing yesterday morning.”

“Another case you’re working?” Sanchez asked. “Frost didn’t mention anything.”

“It wasn’t really any of your business until now, Rookie,” Raven replied. “We’re looking for a white van and two thugs posing as workmen. I gave a partial plate to dispatch last night, but nothing so far. The plates probably don’t go to a van.”

She turned her attention back to Harvey. “I want a run up as soon as possible, including a time of death. And ask Ming to run a toxicology screen. Something kept her quiet and docile while they carried her down nineteen flights of stairs. I want to know what was used.”

“I’m not sure what we might find, Detective,” Pocock replied. “Most of her blood went down the sewer.”

“Do what you can,” Raven replied. “I’ve got three victims and two vague suspects. The only thing I can go on is salt and I doubt that will get us very far.”

“You got it, Detective. Anything else?” Pocock asked.

“I’ll let you know. Sanchez, you’re with me,” Raven said.

She didn’t wait for a reply, instead turning on her heel and heading to the Shelby. Sanchez hurried to keep up and Raven was already in the car by the time he opened the door. He sat down and looked around the car like he’d never seen one before.

“Nice ride, Ray,” he said, reaching out to run a hand over the dash.

Raven’s hand snaked out and wrapped around the young man’s throat. “You call me Raven or Detective, got it, Rook?”

Sanchez nodded, his eyes bulging.

“Good boy. I’ll let you know when you can call me Ray. If ever,” Raven said. “Buckle up.”

She let go of the young detective’s throat and headed north and east out of Old Town.

“That’s assault, Detective!” Sanchez said.

“Actually it’s battery,” Raven replied absently. “Telling you ‘I’m going to pop your head like a zit if you don’t shut up’ is assault. Didn’t they teach you anything?”

“That isn’t the point, Detective!” Sanchez said. “I could put you on report.”

“Go ahead. Won’t be the first or last time,” Raven replied.

Sanchez closed his mouth and Raven drove across town. After a while the young detective found his voice again.

“Where are we going?”

“The only place I can think of that might have a large quantity of Pacific Blue salt,” Raven replied.

“Ah, the salt that was used on the victims.”

Raven lowered her glasses and looked at Sanchez again. “Do you always state the obvious or is today a special occasion?”

Sanchez blinked in surprise and blushed, sinking into his seat.

“I can see we’re going to have a lot to talk about,” she said. “Just try not to get shot.”

“Why did you and Levac split?” Sanchez asked.

“Ask him,” Raven replied.

THE ISAACSON AND STEIN FISH company sat in a large building on West Fulton Market. It had been in the same spot for close to one hundred years and Raven happened to know that one of the proprietors, now working quietly behind the scenes, had been there since the beginning. Sometimes being a vampire had its privileges.